


after us, the flood

by snagov



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Love, M/M, Melancholy, Promises, Rings, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snagov/pseuds/snagov
Summary: What do you have at the end? Only what you've taken with you.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54
Collections: Fingerbang #1





	after us, the flood

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: _cutlery_.

“I should return to _Erebus_ ,” James murmurs. His skin is warm where his cheek presses against Francis’ shoulder. “Preferably before they send a search party in pursuit.”

“Aye.” His idle fingers trail through James’ hair, inhaling the salt and iron. When he breathes James, he smells wool and cedar from their chests. Cold and snow, ice and lye soap. The floral hint of macassar oil long gone. (That, like nearly all things, they have run out of too.) He shifts, pulling James further abreast. It's easy now; as the rations drop, he covers Francis as light as a sheet. 

We make do with what we have. It's funny what you might call a treasure in the end. You can't stay in the ice forever, you either dig your way out or you die. Strange how life works, the constant upkeep. Eating and drinking, breathing and sleeping. You'd think we would have worked the kinks out by now, learned to live on sunlight and air. 

“Before you go,” Francis says, pushing a hand into his trouser pocket. “Indulge an old fool a moment, won't you?”

James raises a dark brow. Where is the lover in your bed? He wants to give you something, he wants to feed you and he has no food. He wants to put the silver on your tongue and take you with him. Francis opens his hands. It's foolish when he sees the worn thing in the palm of his hand. Curled up like a snake waiting to strike, all polished silver and curled edges. On one end, the initials _FRMC_ are stamped. 

"A ring?"

"If you like," Francis mutters, his throat tight. His cheeks redden as James turns the ring over. Light catches in the initials, spelling him out. 

"Francis, did you fashion this from your own teaspoon?"

"It's nothing - " He quiets as James slips the ring on his thin fingers. It's difficult to see the silver wrapped around James. He is angry because he has passed a thousand jewelers and there are no diamonds now. If you suck on a spoon, you can pretend your belly's full. _It's a placeholder,_ Francis wants to say. _Don't start the meal without me._ He wonders if a spoon is more precious to anyone but the trapped. A silver shovel to dig your way out. Francis has heard rumors that Napoleon had always kept a spoon on him, just in case. Josephine had sewn it into his linens. 

"Thank you," James murmurs. They kiss and Francis presses his ear to James' heart, listening to the sea. They say Charon's kinder when you grease his palm with silver, though no one asks where he spends the coin. James wraps his hands around Francis' own, kissing each wide knuckle. The ring is warm, heated by James' living skin. Francis glances down, seeing his own name spelled out in the palm of James' hand.

Shame about Elba, you can’t dig your way out of water. Then again, knowing Napoleon, maybe he had.


End file.
